


Tick

by operahousehomicide



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Farmer Refuted, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Lowkey Period-Typical Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/operahousehomicide/pseuds/operahousehomicide
Summary: In which King George William Frederick III of the United Kingdom's soulmate-identifying timemark does not have a countdown until December of 1774, and he meets his soulmate in July of 1783. His soulmate is not only a man, but a bishop, and an American.





	

**Author's Note:**

> nice

Frederick’s timemark had never worked.

He had known there was something wrong with him since he was very young. His mother had ensured that, locked away in his London apartment until the age of twelve, he knew as much. Augusta had never been a particularly doting woman, but she kept him safe from the political influence of his grandfather and the rest of the palace hens. Her insistence upon his knowledge that he was different came from her duty to country; duty to ensure their future king would already know of his flaws rather than discover them through slander. His tutors agreed this was a good policy. Frederick rather did not.

His timemark, a set of numerals on his wrist, had been at a strict zero, colon, zero, colon, zero since he was born. It was rare to have an unset timer, but not unheard of. He was not the only person in the world to have a mark that did not count down to the date he would meet his soulmate. Some people’s marks ceased or began to work after traumatic life events. Others’ never did. Frederick hoped sincerely his would work one day.

1759, at age twenty-one, Frederick met Lady Sarah Lennox, sister of the Duke of Richmond, and became smitten with her. His mark did not miraculously begin to work. His tutor and most trusted confidant, Lord Bute, discouraged a marriage. He stamped his feelings for her away and dedicated himself further to his studies.

There was an attempt made by his grandfather, George II, to wed him to Sophie Caroline of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, but both Frederick and his mother resisted, when, after they met, his mark still did not react, and Sophie married instead the Margrave of Bayreuth.

Frederick was twenty-two when his grandfather, the King, passed away suddenly. September 8th, 1761, Frederick married Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz out of duty to crown and country. They met on their wedding day face-to-face for the first time. His mark did not react. Hers still had time left. Frederick and Charlotte entered a quiet but happy partnership, as friends. He succeeded to the throne a fortnight later, on the 22nd of September.

It was early December, 1774, when Frederick, as he attended to his royal docket for the day, noticed his wrist was itching. He scratched away absentmindedly, fingers curling under the lace of his sleeve cuff. In his other hand lay propped a sheaf of parchment. His eyes lingered on the words upon the page, lips twitched upwards into a pleased little smile.

This “ _Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of the Continental Congress in a Letter to the Farmers_ ” was a quaint little document. It had been followed by “ _the Congress Canvassed or an Examination into the Conduct of the Delegates at Their Grand Convention_ ”, which Frederick had taken great pleasure in reading, as well. He had finished perusing both essays when the itching became nigh unbearable.

Shifting his sleeve up, Frederick scratched intensely for a moment, then sighed, glancing down towards his wrist to ensure he hadn’t drawn forth blood in his attempts to soothe the irritation. Frederick’s heart leapt into his throat, eyes bolting wide.

His mark had changed.

The zeros which had plagued him for thirty-six years of his life had shifted away, into a set of numerals that _meant something_. They indicated the time left before he would meet his soulmate.

Heart racing, Frederick tried to think back upon anything traumatic he might have experienced in order to necessitate his mark changing. When his mind came up blank, Frederick forwent the rest of his days’ duties in order to take a reprieve and explain the situation to Charlotte.

The Queen, his dearest friend, helped him unpin his wig and divest himself of his court clothing, goading him into bed and holding him as they murmured to each other in hushed tones. Frederick couldn’t tell if he was terrified or delighted. Charlotte was terribly excited for him. They held hands. The timer indicated there were a little more than nine years before he would meet the person destined to be his soulmate.

Frederick would wait.

It was July of 1783 when Frederick’s timemark ticked its way down to mere days. The King became agitated and jittery. Anxiety laced his every action, until Charlotte had to draw him from court in order to reassure him.

“All will be well,” She murmured gently to him, one dainty hand upon his cheek. “I am sure she will be beautiful.”

Frederick smiled weakly. He perched upon the edge of his throne, bouncing one leg, elbow on the armrest and chin propped on his knuckles. The next audience was his soulmate. He had no doubt of it. It fit into his schedule, but he had refused to look at the names on his day’s docket for the specific reason that _he did not want to know beforehand_.

Frederick dismissed his current audience with twelve minutes to spare. His timemark ticked down to a mere three minutes. Frederick felt sick. He couldn’t hardly breathe, let alone think to calm himself. One minute.

The door to his audience chamber swung open, and the guard who had opened it stepped aside.

 _She_ ended up being a mousy American reverend, a man who had come to London in order to obtain his ordainment and become consecrated as a bishop.

Samuel Seabury looked just about as nervous as Frederick did. He was ruddy in the cheeks, eyes focused solely on the King. Frederick looked at him for a long moment, than rose from his perch upon his throne and began the descent from his dais down the steps to the audience floor.

The American did not pay his reverences, but Frederick hardly had a mind for that. He swallowed tightly, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips. He’d been gnawing on them out of anxiety. Samuel stared at him like he was looking into the face of God.

Frederick didn’t realize he was trembling until he lifted his arm to peel his sleeve back and afford Samuel a glimpse at his timemark. It soothed his nerves only minutely when Samuel was shaking just as hard when he lifted his own arm.

The King’s breath caught.

Samuel’s timemark mirrored his own; with a set of zeros and colons exactly alike to the ones Frederick had sported the vast majority of his life.

“Your Highness,” Samuel breathed, and Frederick tasted salt as he licked his lips again. He was crying.

Samuel took a slow step forward. Frederick met him there, fingers soft as they touched Samuel’s mark reverently. Frederick met Samuel’s gaze, though his vision was watery. They were kissing before Frederick could makes heads or tails of the situation—of the recognition that his soulmate not only was a man (though Frederick had carried such inclinations with him his entire life), but an _American_.

Frederick wound his arms around Samuel’s neck, shaking slightly, and Sam’s hands rose to hold his waist. They fit together very well, Frederick thought, as they stood there alone in his audience chambers, kissing slow and sweet and long.

They lay entwined in bed, some months later, Frederick’s head pillowed on Samuel’s chest, when he realized what it had been that triggered his timemark to begin its countdown. Samuel had published his _Free Thoughts_ documents a few weeks before Frederick had read them. His mark had activated upon reading Samuel’s words. Their first interaction.

Samuel’s mark had worked normally his entire life, and he’d tried to not plan his life around it. He had been terribly nervous upon realizing he would be in London, holding audience with the King, no less, when his timer reached zero, but hoped for the best. They fell into an easy domesticity together.

Samuel obtained his ordainment in Aberdeen. Charlotte adored the bishop. She took the opportunity to bring the children to Weymouth, in Dorset, more frequently on vacations. They oft spent evenings together in Frederick’s chambers before Charlotte took leave to the guest room she had long since occupied as her own. Her timer had long since met its’ end, upon meeting a foreign dignitary some years previously. She and Frederick’s friendship only strengthened after meeting their soulmates.

When Samuel took leave to America again, Frederick missed him terribly. The King paid his passage across the Atlantic every few months to visit. Samuel assured him he was always missed, and had never been broken. He served as a sort of religious tutor for Frederick to the public eye, and, besides some discrepancy with Lord North, they were happy together.

Samuel smoothed his fingers across the zeros on Frederick’s wrist gently. The numbers served as a reminder to Frederick for all he had lost, and all he had gained. If he was given the chance, for Samuel, he would give up the colonies all over again.

 


End file.
